


Aching Orphaned Soul

by ElinorJane



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Ezra Bridger Has PTSD, Ezra Bridger Needs a Hug, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Parental Hera Syndulla, Space Family (Star Wars: Rebels), mom Hera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-15 05:49:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28683558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElinorJane/pseuds/ElinorJane
Summary: Takes place right after S2 episode “A Princess on Lothal”Because Hera was in the middle of helping Ryder Azadi when the rest of the crew offered condolences to Ezra, and she surely comforted him later.  This is very sad and angsty, and I kinda felt bad about writing it—but there’s plenty of Hera-and-Ezra interaction and lots of SpaceMom hugs.For further heartbreak, listen to "Hymn for the Missing" by Red while reading this.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Hera Syndulla
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Aching Orphaned Soul

Hera’s work was nowhere near done. She’d reported to Commander Sato about the mission on Lothal and then submitted a second report about the condition of the new ships and how she recommended fixing them so the fleet could best use them. Now the Ghost needed maintenance. She had to check fuel, cooling lines, water tanks, food supply and decide whether to ration everything now that the fleet had been driven off Garel. It was going to be a long night. With a sigh, she sank into the pilot’s chair of the Ghost and pulled up a few readouts.

She heard muffled sounds from the nose gun turret below. But she didn’t really take notice until the noise reminded her of hitching breath. She paused and listened. Someone…was crying. Someone young— _Ezra_.

She got up and rushed from the cockpit, berating herself. She’d meant to check on him after they rejoined the fleet, and she’d promptly gotten swamped with command business. Hera reached the nose gun in short order—and stopped short at the sight that met her eyes.

Ezra huddled in the chair, his arms around his knees and head buried in his sleeves. Projected above him was a bright holopic: a portrait of a small boy with a man and a woman. These two looked so much like Ezra that it was easy to see where he’d gotten his eyes, his chin, his smile. And the boy in the picture—Ezra—he was so young and carefree. Barefoot and gap-toothed, hair sticking in all directions, a cheerful and mischievous grin.

Hera quietly approached the chair and looked down at Ezra now. His face was hidden by that mop of hair, but his shoulders quivered, and his fingers dug into his sleeve. She set a gentle hand on his back. “I’m so sorry, Ezra.”

After a pause, he lifted his head. “Did you know?” His voice was hoarse. “Did you know they would be _dead_?”

“We didn’t know anything for sure,” Hera said softly. “But…we knew it wasn’t likely they’d survive.”

Another pause. Then, low and harsh, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hera put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Because there was a chance you’d find them, Ezra. And we hoped you would, no matter how small that chance.”

Ezra ducked his head and clenched one hand into a fist. When he spoke again, his voice was thick. “Yeah, well, I keep hoping, and…and…” He groaned and rubbed his eyes roughly with his wrist. “W-what’s the _point_?”

 _Because it keeps you going. Because it’s the right thing to do. Because hardship is not all there is to life. Because hope never truly dies._ But even as she opened her mouth, something told her not to say any of it. She looked sadly down at Ezra, who clasped his arms around his knees again, sniffling.

She remembered the feeling. The sleepless nights, the heavy, aching void in her heart that nothing would truly fill. She wondered—again—if she and Kanan had done the best they could to find the Bridgers. If they could have hunted more thoroughly, maybe personally investigated some sites… She sighed and pushed the thoughts away. She took Ezra’s arm and tugged it gently. He wiped his eyes with his sleeve and clambered out of the seat. Hera wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, cupping a hand behind his head. After a second, Ezra relaxed into the embrace and buried his face in her shoulder. Clutching her so tightly that she could feel every sob and tight breath in his body.

“You should have told me…” he whispered brokenly into the folds of her shirt.

“Maybe we should have,” Hera murmured. “I’m sorry.”

She glanced at the picture again. The woman, Mira Bridger, held tiny Ezra on her back. Her eyes were soft; her smile was warm; her expression was cheerful and soft with love. Ephraim Bridger stood behind them, watching gravely, yet his stance was protective, and his eyes seemed to see no one else but them.

Dimly, Hera understood. Caring for Sabine and Ezra for so long…she knew what drove the Bridgers to act. They had stood up and spoken out because of their principles, but they wanted—fought for—a better life for their _child_. And they’d given up everything for that.

She sighed softly; and almost without thinking, she murmured, “I lost my own mother when I was a little girl.”

Ezra froze and lifted his head. “What—what happened?”

Hera sighed again, remembering things she’d long since tucked away. Things she’d told no one but Kanan. “It was…well, it was the Empire. They took over my home world, and my father and mother formed a resistance and fought back. And my mother was killed during an attack that went wrong.” It had left her motherless and almost fatherless at the same time. Alone and lost. She rested her cheek on the top of Ezra’s head. “I know why she chose to fight. I know she did the right thing, but…it didn’t make things easier when she was gone.”

After a pause, Ezra dropped his head on her shoulder again and sniffed quietly. Hera rubbed his shoulder. Her work for the evening could wait, even if she had to get up extra early tomorrow. “What do you say we sit down?”

He nodded slowly. Hera leaned forward and switched off the projector and took Ezra’s arm. He stumbled beside her as they went to the common room, and he sank onto the couch. He scrubbed at one eye and then the other, keeping his head bent but not really trying to hide his tears anymore. Hera pulled a blanket from the closet and sat beside her youngest and draped the blanket over him, slipping her arm over his shoulders. Ezra leaned against her, sniffing, and rested his head on her shoulder. The room was silent, save for the machinery humming and thumping in the background, and Ezra’s hitching breath.

“I—I wish they hadn’t spoken out. Sometimes,” he murmured. He shivered and wrapped his arms around himself. “I mean, I know that’s wrong—they-they did the right thing. They always have,” he added bitterly. “It’s just…” He clenched his fists, fingers digging into his arms. “Ryder said…they didn’t try to leave until everyone had broken out. I—I wouldn’t want them to just let people die…but why’d they have to die instead? Why did it have to be them?”

“I don’t know, Ezra.”

“Why didn’t they try harder to get out?” His voice grew loud and sharp. “Why didn’t they try to get back to me?”

“They did.” Hera bent forward so she could see his face, looking at him with surprise. “They wanted to see you more than anything else.”

“Well, why didn’t they show it?” He sat upright; the blanket slipped down to the seat, and her arm slid off his shoulders. “Why didn’t they try harder? They were smart enough to slice the Empire’s frequencies and broadcast for seven years!—and get away with it! Why didn’t they figure out something better?” He ducked his head and huddled in on himself. “And why—why do other people always have to come first? Why can’t I…” His voice broke. After a moment, he rubbed his eyes roughly and shivered. “And why…why couldn’t someone stand up for them for once?”

“You did, Ezra.” Hera scooted closer to him, still peering into his face. “You told everyone what they fought for, how fearless they were.”

Ezra’s face went stony. Hera waited a few minutes, but Ezra said nothing. She gently put the blanket around his shoulders again and slipped an arm around him. He sat stiff and tense.

He spoke suddenly, his tone stricken. “It—it’s my fault.”

“What?”

He groaned and grabbed his head with both hands. “It’s my fault!”

“What was your fault?” A second later, the answer struck. “Your—your parents’ death?” Hera straightened and took hold of his shoulders, but Ezra choked and kept his head down. “You think your parents’ death was your fault?”

“Because they heard me!” Ezra jerked upright and shrank away from her. “If-if I hadn’t sent that broadcast—maybe-maybe they’d be alive, imprisoned, but alive—and we could have found them—broken them out—we’ve done it before—tried to… T-they were alive, Hera, and I didn’t know it!” He gulped back tears and rubbed his eyes roughly with one hand. “And I had to ruin everything and send out that stupid, _stupid_ broadcast! Ryder said they knew it was me and they were inspired—!” he choked again and clenched his fists. “They wouldn’t have tried to escape, if…if—it’s my fault! It’s _my_ fault! I killed my parents!” He dug his palms into his eyes and burst into sobs.

Hera slipped both arms around him and pulled him closer until he was almost lying in her lap. She hated the Empire. Hated it with cold, burning, helpless fury. At the same moment, she rubbed Ezra’s back and somehow kept her voice level. “No, Ezra. The Imperials who arrested them—imprisoned them—carried out those orders—they’re the ones at fault. Not you.”

Ezra shook his head fiercely. “If-if it wasn’t for me,” he ground out, “m-my parents…they’d be okay!—they’d be free! Hera, they spoke out because of me! They went to prison because of me!” He sobbed and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to curl into a ball.

“Oh, Ezra…” She pulled him upright and set her hands on his shoulders, looking into his face. “Listen to me, Ezra. Nothing that happened to your parents was your fault. They chose to fight for what they believed—”

“Because of me!” Ezra wrenched his shoulders away.

“Because they loved you. They loved you too much to let you grow up in such a terrible world. Or become afraid and complacent like so many others.” Hera set a hand on his arm.

“You never met them,” Ezra muttered brokenly. “How do you know?”

Hera gave a small smile. “Trust me, I know. Tseebo told me a good deal. And Kanan and I managed to track down a few of their broadcasts.” She gently took Ezra’s hands. “And I think they were glad to hear your broadcast. They would have wanted to hear the truth.”

“The—the truth?”

“Think about it,” she said earnestly. “Your parents couldn’t know what had happened to you after they were imprisoned. They didn’t know if you were safe, if you were cared for, if you were loved…” She drew a breath; she couldn’t imagine years and years of wondering. It had been hard enough when Kanan was captured for a few days. “They couldn’t know if you were alive or dead—until they heard your voice. You told them that you were safe and that you were strong.” She squeezed his hands. “That you had friends to look after you now. And you told them that you were fighting for what you all knew was right.”

Ezra slowly looked up, his face red and wet. Hera took his hands in one of hers and brushed away his tears with her other thumb. “You told them, Ezra, that you believed what they’d taught you and that you were carrying on their legacy. You told them that their sacrifices were not in vain—would never be in vain. It brought them joy. And I know they would be proud of you.”

He sniffed and scrubbed his eyes again. “I—I wish…” he murmured, “I could’ve heard them say it.”

Hera set her hand on his shoulder. “I know,” she said softly.

He swallowed hard and dropped his gaze. After a moment, he murmured, “I—I know they did the right thing. I don’t—don’t really wish they had kept quiet.” His shoulders shook. “I-I just…”

“I know, Ezra.”

He buried his face in his hands, muffling his sobs. Hera pulled him back into their hug, and he reached for her, clutching her as though he were drowning. She somehow pulled him closer and rested her cheek on the top of his head. He was so lost. She rocked him gently; and then, as if some memory prompted her, she began humming a song her mother used to sing, a lullaby of comfort about a green and peaceful place, full of soft wind and flowers.

Presently, Ezra’s sobs grew farther apart and faded into hitching breath, but he didn’t pull away. Hera shifted and leaned back against the seat so that she was a little more comfortable and so that Ezra could lean on her and rest. Ezra also shifted into a more comfortable position, his arms still wrapped around her.

He spoke suddenly, quietly. “I-I wish you could have met them.”

“I wish I could have too,” Hera murmured. “They seemed like good people.”

“They were. They really were.” He drew a hitching breath but spoke more steadily. “And they would have liked you.” He tightened his hold. “Thanks…for all you’ve done. You and Kanan.”

Hera began to answer but found her throat was tight. Instead she just squeezed him gently and rubbed his back. They sat together without speaking for a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> I have a theory that Hera told Ezra about her mother's death long before the episode "Homecoming". I can support said theory too. Whenever Ezra hears his crewmates' backstories (Kanan, Zeb, Sabine), the camera makes sure to show his reaction. He shows concern and compassion for all of them. The only reaction missing? When he hears about Hera's mother. It may just be a coincidence, but it does support my theory! And it makes sense that Hera might tell him that she understands what he's going through to comfort him.
> 
> Also, if you're wondering why Ezra wished he could hear his parents say they were proud of him even though they said it in his vision--he wanted to hear it in person and face-to-face. Visions only offer so much comfort.


End file.
